13.1 miles of Candy and Agony: A Half Marathon Recap

So I ran my first half-marathon last week. Funny thing about half-marathons. It's one of those rare things in life that you can truly be enjoying while simultaneously wishing for the sweet relief of death. It was the Donna 26.2 for breast cancer research and it's become a really big thing in this part of Florida. The male race spectators seemed to focus more on the breast part than the cancer research part but still.

I went with a couple friends and we arrived in Ponte Vedra Beach around 5 am. We were trying to snake our way around the barricades when a news anchor stopped me for an interview. This would surprise most people but I have gotten used to my overwhelming charm and beauty attracting attention. She interviewed me about why I chose to run that particular race. I can't remember exactly what I said but I'm sure my words were charming and my face was beautiful.

Ok, so probably not that last thing. One of the friends I went with always wears makeup. Always. She told me that even laboring through childbirth her sister's only job was to continually reapply makeup. She had applied beautiful makeup at 4 am in preparation for our race.  I furrowed my uneven brows at that and laughed. And then an hour later I was interviewed by a local news station with nothing on my face but the sheen of natural oil under the obscene glare of the news lights. She felt quite vindicated after that.

This doesn't mean I'm going to start wearing makeup all the time, of course. But I will not laugh quite as hard as I normally would at people who do.

The first half of the half marathon (a quarter of a full marathon, if you will. I don't look pretty on the news but I can do fractions. Usually.) was really fun. We ran through beautiful neighborhoods on the beach. People were out in droves, cheering us on, waving flags and offering food and drinks. It was amazing. The race had the usual stations of Gatorade, water, and energy gels but the spectators in this race set up tables of drinks, orange slices, Starburst and Dove candies, popsicles, doughnuts with pink frosting, even cups of beer. People were just popping open cans and pouring them into plastic cups to pass out to the runners. Little kids lined up on the side of the street to high five us and cops directing traffic called out encouragement. It was crazy. People held up signs that said the usual race sayings (Worst Parade Ever!) as well as really sweet words (Thanks for running - you are part of the cure!). I ran with middle-aged men in pink tutus with phrases like "I'm running for my mom" printed on on the backs of their shirts. There was also an old man (perhaps 80?) who ran the entire race holding a full-size American flag with the picture of his son on his shirt who had died in combat. It really was an emotional time.

Our names were printed on our bibs so every so often there was a call of "Great job, Jessica!" This as I unwrapped a Starburst while elite Ethiopian runners sped past on their way to winning the full marathon. Then there was what I can only assume was a gathering of frat boys, 20 something men in no shirts and pink Afro wigs, holding signs that said "We ALL love boobies - run faster!. There were even some very thoughtful guys offering free manual mammograms on the side of the race course.

So thoughtful.

It was the atmosphere that really made the race fun. People cried out "Way to Go!" as we ran down sun-drenched streets through bubbles from machines on folding tables and under banners waving over us. Street bands and boomboxes serenaded us with haunting melodies of "Baby Got Back."

After the first 6 or so miles we ran for a bit on the beach. I had stopped to admire the view when a couple people asked me to take pictures of them. I happily obliged. Then I began to run again.

"Wait!" called one of the guys in the group, "Are you still running?"

Turns out they were part of a relay team and had completed their portion. They apologized profusely for slowing me down but I told them no big deal, I don't care about my pace one bit.

Don't care about my pace, don't care about mascara...

The second half was less fun, as we had to run along a stretch of highway (closed to cars, of course). That was considerably more boring. Until the finish line that is, when it became much more exciting as I struggled to stay upright on my legs of pudding.

I finished last in my group, as we all knew I would. But it was really a fun race and a good cause and I plan to run it again next year - maybe even the whole marathon.

After I reapply my eyeshadow, of course.

28 Days of Hearts

Going through the international adoption process for the first time was overwhelming. I relied heavily on books and blogs to get me through. One resource is a blog called No Hands But Ours, an online community of support for those adopting from China. Every February (Heart Month!), they feature 28 Days of Hearts, a guest blog series of parents who adopted a heart child from China. I was honored to ask to write today's submission.

It's nothing new for readers of this blog but here's a link if you'd like to check it out:

http://www.nohandsbutours.com/2015/02/06/little-girl-red/

It's a wonderful opportunity to showcase these amazing kids and to encourage those looking into adoption to take the next big step in the journey.

Random Ramblings

Famous Smamous

The other night Matt and I were watching Jimmy Fallon's Tonight Show and Jennifer Lopez was on. The blouse she was wearing was unfortunate in that it seemed to be missing the top few buttons. How embarrassing!

Matt remarked that it must be difficult for Jimmy Fallon to interview her when she's dressed that like. I said that it's certainly not the most risque outfit she's worn. Matt nodded thoughtfully and then said "Who is she again?" Even after I said "Jennifer Lopez," there wasn't much glimmer of recognition.

I've mentioned before how funny Matt's almost complete lack of pop culture knowledge is. You do not want this guy on your team if you're trying to get him guess the tune to a popular song in Cranium or when the entertainment card comes up in Trivial Pursuit. Want to know how to change oil or brakes on your car? Ask Matt. Want to go on a competitive bike ride with virtually no chance of leisurely enjoying the lovely surroundings? Ride along with Matt. Have a question about how to invest your money or what to do with your 401K? Matt is your man.

But if you can't remember who Chris Martin dated after he uncoupled with Gwyneth Paltrow, don't bother (Answer: J Law of course). You will have to explain each of those people in great detail and not even get your answer.

I imagine us in Maui, bumping into celebrities (so I'm going to Hawaii with unrealistic expectations. Whatev.). We're biking down a volcano and stop for waffles halfway down the mountain. While pouring syrup on my waffles, I notice that Jay-Z and Beyonce sat down next to us.

We'll strike up a conversation (I'll be totally cool because celebrities just aren't that big of a deal to me and Matt will be cool because he'll think they're regular people):

Matt will be like, "So what do you guys do for a living?"

"You're singers, huh? Both of you? Like in a band? What kind of music do you play - rock, hip hop, folk?"

See? Completely cool.

Lord of the Runs

This Saturday I went on a run with a friend of mine. I've always run alone before and now I know why. My friend Kristie is the type of runner one might see in an ad for Champion or something. The day before our run, I even looked up articles on how to run faster on a long run. You know, because I had so much time to prepare.

As soon as she took off next to me, I knew I was in trouble. It was a faster pace than I was used to and we were planning on doing 12 miles.

At first, my plan was to stay with her. I kept telling myself things like "You can do this! You're amazing! Yay me!"

She quickly blazed ahead, her ponytail bouncing jauntily behind her, taunting me.

I told myself that I just needed to keep Kristie in my sight. I was like Gimli chasing Aragon over the hills of Middle Earth - "Just got to keep breathing, that's the key."

"Alright, so you couldn't keep up. You're still doing ok. Running is hard."

Eventually I told her to just go on ahead. The plan at that point was to just finish my run on the same day as Kristie.

And you know what? I totally nailed it.

I Run This Town

When I first started running, I stayed in our neighborhood. It was much more comfortable for me to be hideous in front of a much smaller number of people. Plus, if my heart suddenly exploded, which seemed a very real possibility, there was a better chance of someone I knew finding me.

Once I started training for this upcoming half-marathon, I realized that I would have to venture out onto longer roads. Getting past 8 miles in my neighborhood was tough as I was running up and down the same four streets, getting barked at by the same dogs.

My first run out of the neighborhood was terrible. I parked at a nearby grocery store and ran a 5 mile loop. Then I came back to the car and chugged my water bottle and stuffed dried dates in my mouth like a deranged chipmunk. My plan was to run from there back to my house, get Toby, and run back to the car. By the time I picked up Toby, I was practically limping along with exhaustion, the massive influx of water sloshing around in my stomach. Toby was thrilled, pulling at the leash. I could hardly hold him I was so tired. To get back to the car we had to cross over a highway overpass. With no shoulder. And a dog.

That was super smart. Cars whizzing past, Toby nervous and trying to hide behind my legs as we walked across.

But it got better. Eventually my stamina improved, even if my ample, date-consuming body did not. I was nervous about running in front of so many people as I do not look like a runner.

At all.

In fact, I look like a person who only runs when confronted with possible death. Or when the Krispy Kreme light is on and there's only 1 minute until close and it's at the end of a long street.

But I run nonetheless. Even though it's still fairly embarrassing and I feel self-conscious, wondering what people driving by are thinking:

"What is that poor woman running from?"

"Does she realize how her armpit fat looks in that tank top?"

"Why is this walker wearing so much gear? (To the passenger): Do you suppose she's walking across the country, like Forest Gump?"

I saw this video recently, empowering women to exercise even if they feel self-conscious doing it:

It's pretty awesome and I figure if they can exercise and film it to be viewed for an international audience, then surely I can run a few measly sidewalks in my little town.


I also recently got a Camelbak hydration pack, one of these babies:





Which is the adult equivalent of running with a juice box. Only instead of Capri Sun, it's flavored electrolyte water. Before I got one, I had to run back to my car halfway through to maniacally chug my water bottle. I used to fixate on that water bottle. Thirsty after running 5 miles, I would imagine the car being stolen and tried not to panic, thinking about them taking my water bottle.

So I got a hydration pack, which not only alleviates the water bottle issue but also significantly raises my coolness factor. There is nothing cooler than a grown person sucking water out of a huge straw coming from behind their head.

Nothing.

The hydration pack does lead to some problems, however. This past Saturday I ran 13 miles around town (longest distance ever! ate a Klondike bar that night to celebrate! could barely walk the next day! so much fun!) and it was sunny and temperate in the afternoon, 65 degrees, thank God for Florida's winters. So I wore a tank top.

Here's an issue that smaller, leaner, non-tank-top wearing runners don't have to deal with - arm chafing with a hydration pack. I brought a ribbon with me to tie the front straps together (another point for looking cool) but my arms still rubbed against them.

At one point, it was getting so painful that I took out my lip balm and stood on the side of the road, rubbing Chapstick on the inside of my arms.

Which sounds like the title of an interesting book.

Standing on the Side of the Road, Rubbing Chapstick on My Arms: 
                                A Memoir

The other thing about running around a small town is the encouraging amount of support I receive from people.  Head nods, high fives, every once in a while a shouted "You go, girl!"

And so I keep going, if not for the simple reason that complete strangers believe in me. And I can't let what's-his-name down.

Sure it's frustrating when I take half the day to run what feels like 50 miles but actually only turns out to be 10. Four hours isn't even a great marathon time, let alone an acceptable 10 mile time. What with all the walk breaks, the side cramps, the date eating, and the all-over Chapstick applications, it takes me forever. I try not to think about the fact that people are SLOWLY completing MARATHONS before I've finished meandering through a tiny bit of my town.

But still I run. And that's got to count for something,even if it's just a Klondike Bar on Saturday night.

Holiday Recap

Christmas 2014 came and went, as I'm sure you are aware. I don't want to presume anything but neither do I want to insult your intelligence. At least not in print.

I don't know about all the rest of the parents here, but it's always tricky for me not to overdo presents. It's not that I want to, quite the contrary; it's just that it's so much fun picking things out for kids. Especially my kids. They have hardly any standards when it comes to presents. One of Jack's most persistent gift requests over the past couple months has been a planner.

A planner.

Like, the portable calendars adults use to write in their appointments.

Katie decided she wanted a planner too. The excitement in their faces from a $1 Target planner says it all. Consequently, Jack spent the rest of the day (and many of the days after) writing down people's contact info in his planner. My grandma tried not to laugh when Jack asked her, in very serious tones, for her fax and office numbers.

We had the great fortune this Christmas to have two of Matt's brothers (and their lovely wives) join us. His brothers and their families live in New York, Alaska, and Oregon so it's rare that we see them and even rarer to have a few families together at the same time. As a group we decided to meet every couple years and enjoy a week in a rental house somewhere so that all of us can have some time together.

Mark and Emily came for Christmas Eve and Matt and I hosted the traditional Christmas Eve dinner and white elephant gift exchange. One of the gifts was (and here I am not making this item up) a selfie stick. As in a stick you can put your camera on, set the timer, and hold it away from you to take a selfie. 

We tried.

In the end we had Jack take a picture. Sure it's a little blurry but my Grandma and I look like we're beginning a conga line so that's festive.

Every Christmas Eve night, when we put the presents around the tree, Matt always says the same thing: "Are you sure this is enough presents? I remember a ton around our tree as a kid."

And then I assure him that it's plenty and he needs to take into account the fact that he was much shorter as a child so his perception was skewed.

We had a lovely, low key Christmas morning with our apparently mediocre amount of presents. Matt's parents and Mark and Emily came over for breakfast and then we all headed to my parents house.

Matt's oldest (eldest?) brother Andrew flew in that evening with his wife Taryn and their absurdly adorable daughter Eva. We only get to see them about once a year so it was really nice to spend some time with them. One of the great things about Taryn is that she has many talents. One of them is photography. She took some great pictures of all of us and has graciously allowed me to share them here - I promised her I would do my best to give her credit for them. Taryn's also a speech pathologist and I asked her to work with Jack on some speech issues. It's wonderful to be surrounded by talented people. My talents are more in the vein of singing the lines to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song and doing the running man. Sure, it's a little insulting that I'm never asked to share my talents but I try to overlook that in the spirit of Christmas cheer.

Eva is pulling on Jack's glasses and he's just pretending that nothing unusual is happening.

Mom and the daughters-in-law. We group together by hair color, apparently (and volume, as Emily pointed out).

Eva loved nothing more than to poke Tali's face. Tali was not amused. This picture sums it up.

We played games, ate food, traded insults. It was glorious.

Andrew spent a long time playing with Tali, hiding a light up ball behind his back and then throwing it while she squealed with laughter and ran to get it. Cheap entertainment.

Biking is a thing for the males in Matt's family. Matt competed in bike races when he was a teen and even biked across the country at 19. Matt's dad bikes and so does his brother Andrew. Matt's now taking Jack along for shorter rides. They went out a couple times and Andrew taught Jack all about drafting. When I saw these pictures, I wondered if we own stock in spandex. Because if not, we definitely should.

Like most holiday seasons, this one ended with a slight feeling of sadness that all the fun was over. Well, that and stomach flu. Katie got sick at 3 am on New Year's Day at my parents' house. Both the older kids had spent the night eating ungodly amounts of food and staying up to watch the midnight fireworks from my parents' dock. My mom told me that the first thing Kate said after she threw up, in typical Katie fashion, was "Oh no! What treats can I have today now?" She was super concerned she would miss all the good food. After a couple days on the couch, eating saltines and watching movies, Kate recovered and then Noah got sick. I'm not going to go into all the details because if there's anything worse than taking care of children with the stomach flu it's reading blog posts about it.

The odd thing about being a blogger is that you begin to want strange and/or humorous things to happen so you can write about it.

"So nobody is going to flip out at a holiday gathering? I'm not going to find out I'm allergic to something in a humorous way? Come on, people."

I'm sad to say that this holiday was a calm, enjoyable time with family and nothing unusual happened at all. Fingers crossed for Easter!

How to Wrap a Present in 26 Easy Steps

Step 1: Assemble all the items you need.

Step 2: Start rolling out the wrapping paper.

Step 3: Realize you forgot the scissors. And the tape (repeat step 1 as needed).

Step 4: Wrestle the scissors away from toddler.

Step 5: Ignore the screaming.

Step 6: Choose a box from your assortment of Amazon boxes on the garage freezer. Don't worry about taking the shipping label off. Too much work.

Step 7: Eat an Oreo. It says 'limited edition' on the box so you really don't want to procrastinate on eating these. This is a time-sensitive endeavor.

Step 8: Use your amazing sense of measurement for the wrapping paper. You're a college educated individual - surely you can correctly eyeball how much wrapping paper you'll need.

Step 9: Struggle with folding the paper on the ends. Realize that this is fancy wrapping paper (which was given to you by your mom). Cheap wrapping paper folds easily and tears if you use too strong of a grip folding it. This stuff doesn't - it's real wrapping paper, the type sold at fancy department stores where people buy silver baby rattles. Not the sort of stores where your wrapping paper usually comes from - the sort of stores where people buy Slim Jims and Charmin along with their wrapping paper.

Step 10: Ok, so maybe you didn't eyeball the wrapping paper that well. You're just a simple person, for goodness' sakes!

Step 11: Eat an Oreo. 

Step 12: Cut off the excess paper from both ends. You should've moved the box over so you only had one end to cut but you didn't think of that at the time. This has only happened every single time you've wrapped a present in your life, how is a person to know these things? You're not a flippin' magician.

Step 13: Sides trimmed, you now fold up the paper around the main part of the box.

Step 14: Apparently there's not enough paper width-wise.

                                    

Step 15: Stare at the box, wondering how you could have made such colossal errors of measurement with the wrapping paper.

Step 16: Ponder not only measurement skills, but also powers of reasoning and logic and possibly existence.

Step 17: Put "The Office" on for background noise. Drink milk.

Step 18: Take one of the strips of paper trimmed off the ends (Strips of Shame) and tape it to the side of the box to cover your other mistake.

Step 19: Realize you forgot to buy present labels. For the 3rd year in a row. Write the name inside one of the reindeer with Sharpie so it almost looks like you completely planned on the Sharpie route. 

Step 20: Slap a bow on the box. Now tape the bow to the box because the bows are, like, 4 years old and the adhesive has dried up.

Step 21: Repeat for every present. 

Step 22: Enjoy a job well done! 

Step 23: Reward self with Oreos.

Step 24: Feel bad about self, drink lots of water to compensate.

Step 25: Clutch stomach, which now hurts from too much water and too many Oreos.

Step 26: Lay on couch. Watch Netflix.

Haircuts and Fairy Tales

Take the Mirror!

Every time I get my hair cut, the stylist insists that I take a tiny mirror and swivels me around in the chair so I can look into the mirror at the back of my head's reflection in the big mirror. I always dutifully glance even though I don't care a bit what the back of my head looks like. With very few exceptions, my haircut in the back looks identical to what's happening on my sides and I've already seen those by the end of the cut.  Often I'll just give the stylist a vague idea of what I want (not to look like a mushroom) and then tell him or her that I trust them to figure the rest out as they go.

Last week I got my hair cut and the stylist again handed me a mirror to see the back.

"It's ok," I said, "I'm sure the back looks fine. I don't need to see it."

"No, I want you to see it."

And here she swivels me around.

(Wow, this mirror really magnifies my poor, untweezed eyebrows. Is it normal to have eyebrow hair grow this fast? Maybe it's my gummy vitamins...)

"So, how does it look?'

"What? Oh, it looks great. Really lovely."

(I really should try eyebrow waxing. It could change my life.)

The stylist nods contentedly with the knowledge that I am indeed deeply satisfied with how the back of my head looks.

This leads me to believe that stylists must be constantly plagued by customers who come back after a cut, pointing angrily to the back of their heads and yelling "What's the matter with you? The sides of my hair are amazing but the back is an absolute nightmare. People have been laughing at me, literally behind my back, the entire day."

The Brothers Very Grim

My kids will probably tell you I'm mean. Which is true much of the time.  I'm constantly harping on them to clean up, do their math, put their shoes away, and actually use shampoo in the shower and not just wet your hair because I can totally tell. I've heard that being a grandparent is the reward you get for raising your kids and I believe it. My mom tells me she enjoys being able to do fun things and spoil them because she isn't responsible for how they turn out, unlike her own children. Therefore, it's oatmeal at home and 6 bowls of Lucky Charms at my parents.

 In fact, we stayed the night at their house over this past Thanksgiving and my mom bought three different sugary cereals just for their arrival. One was open so I took it out to give to everyone.

 My dad: "No, no, take them all out. They can have whatever they want."

"But this one is open," I sputter.

"It's fine, open them all."

And I'll be darned if my big kids didn't have like 6 bowls apiece, 2 of each kind of cereal.  Seeing how different my own parents are as grandparents, happy and smiling and generally enjoying it, makes me look forward to when I have my own grandkids and I won't have to worry everyday that I'm disciplining too much or too little or that I won't have enough money for therapy someday.

So whenever I can get away with not directly sucking the happiness out of their lives I do. Which means that whenever I read a book aloud or tell a story, I will often sneak in my own sentences so it sounds like it's coming from the author and not me.  For instance:

"Once upon a time there was a little girl named Goldilocks. She was walking through the woods and spotted the house of the three bears. She decided to go in, even though her mom had told her not to but Goldilocks didn't listen to her mom at all which resulted in her almost being eaten by bears, which we'll see later on in the story."

And then later...

"Goldilocks woke up and saw the bears, screamed, and ran way. She vowed from that day forward to be an obedient kid and to always do what her mom says. The end."

Of course, this really only works for Noah. With the older kids I have to be sneakier. Like if I'm reading Harry Potter and come across a section about the trouble the twins get into and how stressed it makes their mother, I might add:

"George and Fred were worried that their mother might be disappointed in them and so they decided to do their best to make good decisions because they realized life would be more enjoyable if they weren't in trouble so much."

Stuff like that.

Of course, there is a risk that someday they'll realize that Hansel and Gretel weren't actually sent out to the woods for punishment for not clearing their dishes and also for arguing over whose cookie was bigger, but it's a chance I'm willing to take.